Tales of the Dread Wolf: Still and Quiet
by KuraNova
Summary: Set in the final years of the rule beneath the Evauris, Solas discovers that he has spent too much time away from his kin. In his isolation he has allowed a great injustice to plague Elvhenan. Inspired by a new friend, Solas begins to set into motion the events that would change him and his world forever - though he is unsure if history will remember him as a liberator or traitor.
1. Chapter 1

_Tales among the Dalish, the foremost authority on elvhen antiquity according to themselves alone, generally paint a pretty picture of their history. Their tales rarely paint a pretty picture of the Dread Wolf. It makes sense that they would not, of course, considering the trickster god was credited for the destruction of their pantheon. The cunning wolf, they said, had been jealous of the other gods. He hounded them with his tricks and envious barbs and, eventually, locked seven of them away. For all time they would sleep, leaving their empire to ruin and the elvhen subject to living in squalor and slavery; leaving them to the mercy of humanity. But, as I have said, the Dalish merely assume themselves knowledgeable on the subject. That does not mean they are correct._

 _Part of me truly believes the Dalish Keepers would expire on the spot if they knew the Dread Wolf was solely responsible for everything that had befallen the People. In truth, he had trouble believing it himself sometimes. It had all began innocently enough, as tragedies often do, with a fondness for a woman._

"I simply do not understand its purpose!" Solas huffed angrily as he paced a ditch into the fine, soft grass of Mythal's personal garden.

The All-Mother watched him tread back and forth with a wry smile upon her lips. "There is no reason for it," she explained patiently.

Her level-headedness belied her own distress, but Mythal was the best of them, Solas knew. Where he grew angry, she became resolved, and more often than not, her diligence and tenacity won over their peers far better than his own cantankerous snarling. If he had been jealous of anyone, it would have been her.

Solas rounded on her abruptly, turning upon his heel with a grace that was difficult to apply to any but one of the elvhen. The gesture might have seemed threatening, certainly, if she did not know him so well.

"Then why?" he asked sharply, a heated desperation creeping into his voice like a fog. "They kill them in the hundreds by the day! They have their palaces and their monuments - enough for a thousand men and women ten times over. To persist with this servitude is cruel. It's unconscionable!"

"Peace, my friend," Mythal said gently, attempting to spell it upon him.

He rejected the magic, finding comfort in his own anger. The Evanuris' slaves were of the People, and they deserved better. They deserved freedom.

Mythal seemed unruffled as ever, and merely continued on. "They know there will always be more," she said, " and so they abuse and imprison them, because in their eyes they are lesser."

She seemed profoundly saddened by this, but gathered herself and let out her upset with a quiet sigh.

"Something must be done," Solas replied, still bristling, though tempered by his friend's sadness.

"I do not disagree," she said, "but we must be cautious. Elgar'nan is already suspicious."

Solas snorted in amusement. "Only because he believes my attachment to you more than it is. It has little to do with his slaves."

She smiled, a serene and gentle thing. "Even so, my passionate friend, settle. We will sway them in time."

There wasn't time, despite her desire to keep things amicable between the other Evanuris. Solas had long ago surpassed the point of friendly, and was now openly hostile. There was a time when he would have indulged in the fine pleasures of life as they did, but then their disciples became servants, and those servants became slaves. He felt a shudder run down his spine at the thought. Nothing was so distasteful to him as being captured - trapped, and having a life forced upon one who did not wish it. He could scarcely imagine losing his own freedom, the mere thought made his stomach turn violently. Perhaps the worst of it was that even if the Evanuris' slaves did somehow manage to find autonomy, the tattoos they bore on their skin, the vallaslin, would brand them as property forever. Worse still, the vallaslin was imbued with magic, a magic that would cause the bearer to submit to the will of whomever the markings symbolized.

If only there was a way to be rid of the damned markings. If he could figure out a way to accomplish that much and free the People from the bonds of the Evanuris, it might be a large enough change in their world that his kin would have to resume their rightful place among the people. Ruling over them like gods was inexcusable. There was some guilt he shared with their fate, however. Were it not for his self-imposed exile from his kin, he might have been able to speak out against the measures taken to transform petitioners into objects. He might have been able to stop it. The past aside, the vallaslin was key. He could feel it in his gut.

"Solas," Mythal queried suspiciously, "you have that look in your eye. What are you plotting?"

His pale eyes rose to her face and held her gaze. "Nothing. Or at least nothing yet."

"Be patient." She was asking more than telling, a quiet plea fluttering beneath her words.

Solas tossed his head in arrogant frustration, the small gold clasps adorning his dark hair clinking with the movement. "Patience will not-"

A current of power rippled through the air then, halting Solas' rebuttal mid-sentence.

"Ah, Solas, imagine seeing you here."

Elgar'nan's deep voice preceded his appearance at the opening to the garden's breezeway. Half cast in shadow, his dark features cut out an imposing visage, and even though he was immortal, there was an air of age about him. His eyes, in particular, always seemed to hold all the eons past within them. Solas had found them fascinating once, but now, as their dark fathoms regarded him, there was a distinct chill in the air.

"Elgar'nan," Solas said, inclining his head with barely restrained malice. "I was just leaving."

Casting a spell about himself, Solas had just crossed the threshold to the Crossroads before hearing Elgar'nan speak once more.

"See that you do."

Once Solas was gone, Mythal pinned her husband with a glare. "Don't antagonize him so."

Her husband shrugged, closing the distance between him and his wife in a few graceful strides. "He is trouble, my love," he replied as he sat down on the bench next to her. Gently, he lifted her hand into his, and placed a kiss to her knuckles.

"He wouldn't be, if you and the others didn't treat him so poorly."

His thumb brushed the back of her hand. "His proposals are ridiculous - completely unnecessary and a waste of our time."

Mythal frowned. "We've nothing but time, and his suggestions do have merit."

"Don't tell me you actually buy into his raving?"

She turned to face him fully, her thin, silvery hand coming to rest against his cheek. "I believe him when he says the People are unhappy. He walks among them every day. He sees what the others do not."

"And you?" he asked quietly. He was angry, that much was clear, but it was also true that Elgar'nan loved his wife very much.

"I took his words to heart. I went to the People, and I saw as he did. I am ashamed by my own short-sightedness. They are miserable, my love. Do we not already have enough grand constructs to last us to the end of eternity?"

"You would see them all free?" he asked tentatively.

Mythal nodded her head once and smiled. "Yes! Those who serve will only be the willing. Could you perhaps find a way to mention it to the others? Please?"

Elgar'nan let out a tired sigh, and leaned in to press his lips to her forehead. "I will consider it," he said, "Anduril is still on her journey, but regardless, you know what their answer will be."

Still she smiled at him, lifting her lips to his. "I trust you. You can be very persuasive."

"Says the most beguiling of us all."

* * *

Solas had detoured from his intended destination almost immediately after passing into the misty in-between of the Crossroads. If he were to venture home in his current agitated state, he was certain he would accomplish nothing but tearing his study apart in a fit of pique. He had always been quick to anger, his emotions running hot and heady - and he'd never been particularly proficient at hiding his feelings, either. He'd never really had to.

Spirits were always attentive to his needs and feelings. They were his friends. It wasn't as if their desire to help came from his being particularly special; it was simply in a spirit's nature to live out its purpose, whatever that might be. However, Solas did spend an inordinate amount of time alone in the presence of spirits. Their single-minded desire to their task at hand reflected his own burning desire for knowledge, and despite their lack of corporeal form, he could spend hours with them poring over ancient relics and new curiosities.

Solas also dreamed. He preferred utilizing the vast majority of his time to wander the dream world among those who did not mind his company. It was a pleasure to do so, in fact, and in so doing he had learned much about world, both physical and spiritual . Some might have said he was more knowledgeable about the history of the People and their place in the world than even Mythal or Elgar'nan. He would likely have agreed, but surely that was only his pride speaking. It was his constant thirst for knowledge, however, that had ultimately begun to set him apart from the other Evanuris.

While they were content with the way things were, Solas had never been. He had a wandering spirit, forever seeking change and driven to learn and alter his perception of reality. Nothing gave him a greater thrill than testing his intelligence and proving himself wrong - or having the nature of the world he lived in do so for him. He so loved to be wrong, because that meant he was learning something new. The others, as long as they remained unaltered by time and tended to by their slaves, were content to live in ignorance.

It was his desire for new experiences that had set him along his current path. Solas remembered the very day one element of the universe set herself in his path and made him see, really see, what his pride had made him blind to for years.

It was a night, he reflected, that he hadn't been able to sleep. It stood out in his mind because he had never before experienced such a problem in the whole of his life, which had been a very long while. He had tossed and turned atop his furs and luxurious silk pillows, but the peace of dreams had eluded him. Solas suspected that this disgruntling interruption to his normal routine had to do with the news he'd received earlier that day.

Anduril had journeyed into the Void.

Despite his protests that she not embark on such a dangerous, and likely deadly, endeavor, the huntress had merely taken his warnings as a challenge - not that she would have been inclined to listen to him in any event. Anduril had always held a special brand of disdain in her heart for him. Though, he'd chuckled to himself with a grin, he couldn't have imagined why. Solas had not minded her animosity, however he did mind that her foolishness had the potential to harm them all.

Shaking his head, Solas had rolled off his bed and onto his feet with a heavy sigh. It seemed he would have no peace for some time yet. He had waved a hand absently in the direction of the eluvian propped up in the corner of his room, and had watched the space around him become bathed in a dim, blue light. He had considered the portal a moment as he had meandered over to his desk and poured himself a glass of wine.

There were many places to venture, but Solas had found himself gravitating to locations that would be brimming with people and life and conversation. Perhaps the business with Anduril had made him aware of just how much of a recluse he had become over the centuries, and thought he had normally preferred the still and the quiet, he was not wholly without the need for contact with the People. He'd not walked among them for some time, and had found himself curious as to how the city of his youth appeared then, what must have been centuries later. He often had lost track of time when he pursued a particularly fascinating subject of inquiry.

Solas had hummed through a swig of wine thoughtfully, eyes illuminated by the eluvian as he regarded its presence. Visiting Mythal had been out of the question. Although she was his dearest friend, she could not have been bothered to console him every time he was troubled, and spirits, though eager to help, may have never fully comprehend his unease on their own. He had found himself in need of physical interaction with the world, and there had been only one place he had thought of to go.

The night markets of Arlathan had once been great, unending festivals of light, music, and color. He had remembered there had been one excursion here in his youth that had not ended for many days. He had grown drunk on the finest wines of the empire, tasted the sweetest delicacies of the artisans filling the streets, and perhaps more than once, their daughters as well. Though what Solas had seen before him had been a far cry from the bustling, dizzying and euphoric fair of his memory.

If he had willed it so, the market would have returned to its former splendor. He could have achieved it to soothe his discomfort, but that would have done little to sate his curiosity for the reason behind its current state.

The once exuberant merchants had been replaced by men and women who had appeared morose, unlively, and had worn tattoos on their faces that had looked disturbingly familiar. The tapestries of color hanging overhead had faded, and the wisps that had once lit the seemingly unending corridors had all gone. Solas tasted the unfamiliar tang of despair on his tongue, marvelling at how the other Evanuris could have allowed such a place to exist.

Solas, a curious and ponderous creature, had been unable to help himself from approaching a nearby vendor to inquire after the market's fate. What had disturbed him further, was that upon noticing his approach, the merchant appeared to panic. The man had dropped to his knees in the mud with a profusion of apologies on his lips. While Solas had a scant few servants, he had never demanded his help to prostrate themselves before him thus, and had felt wholly uncomfortable at the notion that this man had seen to appease him in such a way. It had made him ill to think that a merchant should place himself lower than he. Were they not both of the People?

"Stand," Solas had demanded, refusing to see the man robbed of his dignity a moment longer. It had only seemed to make things worse. The merchant had trembled before him, even as Solas had bent near to assist him to his feet.

He had just moved when a warm breeze brushed past his arm, and suddenly before him had stood a woman. A very angry-looking woman. Her bright eyes had pinned him in place even as they narrowed threateningly, and the firm set of her jaw had alerted him to the notion that he was certainly in trouble - even if he'd no clue what for.

"Leave him alone!" she had said. Her tone of voice had issued a command, not a request, and he had been momentarily tickled by the fact that someone would presume to order him about.

Despite her obvious ire, he had straightened himself to his full height and regarded her with a rather indulgent smile. "I was not doing anything untoward. I simply wanted to know what had become of this marketplace. I remember not long ago it was not," he had glanced about at the cracked plaster of the surrounding buildings and the muck that squelched underfoot in the narrow alleyways, "in such a state of disrepair."

The woman had seemed caught off guard by his comment, shifting her weight before leveling him with a curious frown. "Are you daft?" she had asked.

Solas had thrown his head back and laughed, much to the woman's displeasure. At the sound of his mirth a few wisps had ventured near, curious to see what was going on. He had shooed them gently away with a wave of his hand as he attempted to wipe the tears from his eyes. When had been the last time he'd laughed so well? He could scarcely remember.

"No," he had chuckled in response. "Ignorant perhaps."

"I'll say. What's your name? Where are you from?" she had asked, and had shifted her stance from something defensive and closed to a softer, more open posture. He'd never had much trouble getting that reaction from anyone but for the other Evanuris who were more knowledgeable of his guilesome nature.

"I'm from the area," he'd side-stepped with a bit of humor in his voice. "As for my name, I fear it's a bit telling."

The furrow between her brows had deepened at his evasiveness. Surely, he had not been making himself out to be very trustworthy. He had to admit, however, that he'd enjoyed teasing her.

Solas had clasped his hands behind his back as he answered her the first time, but did not rush on to continue. Quietly, he had observed her. Eventually she'd done as he had expected, and filled the silence for him.

"Well?" she had prompted gruffly.

Solas grinned. "No. You'll have to try again."

She bristled. "You know perfectly well what I meant. What is your name?"

He had cocked his head to the side and smiled. "Solas."

Her frown had deepened as she mirrored the tilt of his head. "Solas?"

"You wished to know my name, and that is it. Truly."

"Who in their right mind would name their kid after one of the-" She'd stopped abruptly, her eyes quickly scanning him from head to toe. That was when the blush came. It had been furious and red and, oddly enough, rather charming.

"The what?" Solas had queried with a smirk.

"You're one of the Evanuris," she had grumbled, though Solas had been pleased her reaction did not mimic that of the merchant who has since fled. At least this woman had not seemed to fear him or submit to him with any misplaced reverence.

"I am." Solas had relented on her, his curiosity immediately seizing an opportunity to get her to explain what had happened to this place and, he noted with a somewhat uneasy feeling in his stomach, why everyone he had met was wearing a symbol of the Evanuris on their face.

She had breathed a deep sigh and, looking up at him, said "I'm glad you're not Elgar'nan. I might be a pile of ashes right now."

Solas had laughed again. "I must thank the spirits for that," he had replied with a wry grin. "Were I to look anything like Elgar'nan, I might have never left my home again for fear of frightening Arlathan with my own hideousness."

"Are you sure you can say that?"

Solas had hummed to himself a moment, then shrugged. "It's not as if he can do much to me for calling him ugly."

"He doesn't seem all that ugly to me."

"Oh?" Solas had said, raising his brows in surprise. "Have you seen him?"

She had nodded, then began to walk toward a side street and away from the few pairs of eyes that had been studying them with great interest. "I see to one of Mythal's temples. I have seen him, but in passing. He cuts a handsome figure."

Ahhh, he had thought. This woman was one of Mythal's acolytes! Then her boldness truly made sense. While some of the Evanuris had desired their priests, acolytes, and servants to be seen and not heard - to carry out their every whim without question - Mythal was far more reasonable. She preferred those in her care to act respectfully in her stead and they managed her shrines and temple complexes.

Though perhaps it had been an abuse of his somewhat elevated position as a known, powerful mage, Solas had rolled a shoulder in seeming indifference before asking his first question. "Would you care to tell me what has been going on in the past few years? I fear I have been a bit caught up."

"What do you mean?" she had asked, looking genuinely perplexed.

"The Evanuris used to walk among the People. They frequented this very place, in fact. I cannot imagine they would allow one of the former jewels of Arlathan to become such a-"

"Slum?" she had finished for him.

"Yes," he had replied earnestly. "It is very different from what I remember."

"Does "caught up" mean that you've been asleep for the last few ages? Living under a rock, perhaps?"

Solas had smirked at just how close to the truth she was. Looking around once more, he had immediately sobered. What had he missed while so preoccupied with his own curiosities? What had befallen the People to make living such a misery and not a gift?

"That is...not far from the truth," he had said.

"Well then, I'd be happy to fill in the gaps for you, but only if you help me carry a few tomes back to the temple for me."

"What is your name?"

She had looked up at him, considering him for a long moment before she had answered. "Ellana."

"As you say, Ellana."

Solas hurried toward the next eluvian, his feet padding across the ground almost silently. When he passed through the massive, glowing portal, he just as quickly found himself in front of a long, glassy reflecting pool. The edge of the feature was rimmed in blue tile, darker than a night sky and a glossy as the sheen of finely spun silk. It matched the larger pieces on the floor which paved the way from the pool deeper into the breezeway of the whitewashed temple.

He did not come here often. Since the night he had discovered the great waste his kin had been responsible for, he had dismissed all of his servants. Now the temple lay a hulking mass of silent stone, eerie in the hushed atmosphere with no other living soul about.

The path ahead was dark to even his eyes until he made a small gesture with his fingers. Sconces of veilfire sprang to life along his path as he went, and faded after he had gone. He wordlessly passed a statue of a great wolf which regarded him with stony indifference, and faded back into the inky blackness like a spectre.

He came to a stop in a grand, circular room, the small mosaic tiles of the glittering effigies adorning the walls making him curl his lip in disgust.

He forged straight ahead, the image of Mythal rippling and fading as he passed through yet another eluvian. This one led him to a modest, by the Evanuris' standards, wayshrine. Here stood a simple, open-air, rounded pavilion connected to a few sparse rooms belonging to the shrine's caretakers. Here petitioners would bring their offerings to Mythal, and then burn them in the large fire roaring at the center of the complex.

He had not come to place an offering, though.

Crouched near the fire was Ellana. She was weaving some kind of magic at the base of the brazier, likely an enchantment to keep the fire burning for a few more weeks without fuel. She was swearing under her breath, the complexity of the curse turning the sour hue of his mood around almost immediately, and the nature of her task had him thinking. True to his nature, Solas could not help but begin to devise a trick.

Soundlessly, Solas padded around the fire and settled into a crouch behind one large pillar. Struggling to suppress a laugh, he cupped his hands around his mouth and blew, small crystals of ice forming on the tips of his fingers.

Instantly the large fire died with a sizzle, and Ellana shot up from her position at the base of the great iron bowl with yet another flurry of curses. Also a rather skilled mage, she managed to get the fire going again, but Solas had shifted positions during her moment of concentration. Now at the opposite side of the pavilion, he gathered his magic, cupped his hands to his mouth, and blew once more. Again, the fire died, but by now, Ellana had wised up.

It likely did not help that he hadn't been able to contain himself, and fell out from behind his cover, holding his sides as he laughed.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously on him as she once again encouraged the fire within the brazier back to its formerly intense blaze. "Don't you have someone else you could be bothering?"

"Shouldn't you be more in awe?" he quipped back with a chuckle. "You are in the presence of a god, after all."

Ellana snorted and rolled her eyes at his sarcastic tone, then moved off to attempt to set her enchantment once more. She did not ask him to join her as she milled about the blaze attending to her work, but he did so anyway. He rose to his feet and stood beside her, watching her carefully.

"Have you been very busy today?" he asked, gaze traveling to the neat heft of debris within the flames.

"Very," she replied, brushing her fingertips against the metal base and murmured a few words of magic before a symbol began to glow beneath her fingertips. "Petitioners have been traveling here from miles around to seek Mythal's guidance. I've heard every woe from a lack of a good harvest to maidens being taken from their homes and made as offerings to Dirthamen. I have to say, that man has quite the voracious sexual appetite."

Solas couldn't help but growl quietly at that. He knew what happened to those girls. He wished he didn't. It was a shame that the wasteful nature of his kin had reached even this place, far from the twisting crystal spires of the city.

Ellana straightened away from the fire, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "And you?" she asked.

"Frustrated."

"I can see that," she said quietly.

Her hands came together in front of her, fingers brushing against one another in a nervous gesture Solas might have missed had he not come to know her so well. Despite the fashion of their meeting, the two of them had become fast friends. Ellana had been a source of curiosity to him, and she had answered so many of his persistent questions. In turn, Ellana had wondered at the particular nature of Solas' magic, and had been delighted when he had summoned a spirit of knowledge to regale her with tales from afar. Although, there was a part of Solas that knew she was more important to him than that. He was almost afraid to examine it.

"I am having trouble staying patient," he admitted with an ounce of shame. "I want things to change, but I fear that my isolation from the other Evanuris has done far more harm than good when it comes to asking for their consideration. Mythal has asked me to wait for Elgar'nan's thoughts on the matter, but I do not believe he will be thinking of more than just himself. I worry that if I wait too long, if I'm not fast enough, things will deteriorate even more quickly." He paused, taking a deep breath. "This slavery must end. This is not how the People should live."

"I am sorry it's difficult, but perhaps Mythal is right," Ellana volunteered.

"You are right, of course, and so is she," he sighed.

"I did not say it to be right, only to ease your mind. You are troubled and it has been wearing on your for weeks now."

He grumbled to himself at that, hands clasping behind his back as they were wont to do whenever he was thinking deeply on a matter.

"And for what it's worth," she said loudly enough to draw his attention away from his thoughts, "if you had not isolated yourself from the other Evanuris, perchance you would be something like them. I, for one, am glad that is not the case."

Solas smiled at her despite himself, feeling something in his chest ache at the surety in her voice. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could utter a single syllable the eluvian behind them crackled loudly across the space as it activated.

The brand of power that preceded whoever was passing through the eluvian was familiar to both of them, and so it was no surprise when Mythal finally emerged from the glowing portal. The All-Mother obviously knew where she was, but she took a moment to glance about her surroundings until her eyes focused between Ellana and Solas as if she had to assure herself that she was indeed in one of her shrines, and that Solas was here speaking to one of her people. It was indeed a curiosity, one that caused a single brow to quirk up at her old friend in question.

Solas said nothing, greeting Mythal with only a small nod of his head. Ellana, however, bowed respectfully at the waist to the powerful Evanuris that she has faithfully served for the majority of her life. "My Lady," she said, "is there anything I can do for you?"

The All-Mother smiled at her, shaking her head once. "I was merely going to ask you if Solas had passed through here, but it seems I needn't have bothered."

"Yes, my Lady. It seems he is always underfoot."

Solas scowled at Ellana's needling, shooting her a impotent glare as he huffed in indignation. Looking back at Mythal, he noticed that his old friend was regarding him with an strange and contemplative expression, but it swiftly vanished, replaced by tight-lipped resignation.

Something was wrong.

"I only just left you," Solas began slowly, "has something happened?"

Mythal tried to hide her wince at his question and failed. "Anduril has returned from the Void, and she is," she hesitated, "changed."

Solas felt a weight settle uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. "Changed?"

"Yes, and we are needed."

* * *

The high, gilded walls of Elgar'nan's throne room were as obnoxious as they were beautiful. Every surface shimmered and glittered, creating a disorienting sensation of being completely surrounded by one's own reflection. Solas found it eerie - a bit much - but he suspected Elgar'nan rather liked the effect as well as the opportunity to stare at himself from wherever he was. He was never able to take his eyes off of himself for very long. Finding fault with Elgar'nan was not the reason he was standing in the middle of his atrocious throne room, however.

Anduril stood before her adoptive father still wearing her armor with hair a wild mess of tangles that was hastily pulled back at the nape of her neck. She was covered from head to foot in gore - a thick, black ichor that bore no resemblance to any blood or fluid from any living creature he had ever seen. The stench of the stuff permeated the air, and it was only with a small touch of amusement that Solas noticed June holding a sleeve up to his nose.

Solas stood apart from the rest of his kin, loathe as he was to call them as much, and reclined against one of the overwrought frescos as he watched Anduril retell her harrowing adventure. Nevermind that she was the only person to return from such a mad journey.

"I traversed the Void, and I am telling you there are creatures in the beyond that defy this world with their very existence. They are more powerful than even the strongest Titan."

"Are you saying we should exterminate them?" Elgar'nan spoke with a curious air, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"No." There was a feverishly mad gleam in Anduril's eyes, and her words slipped out as a breathy sigh of wonder. "We should harness them - use them against the dwarves and humans or any who would stand against us."

Solas snorted loudly at that. Since when had the humans and dwarves done anything more than defend themselves against the unchecked expansion of the empire?

Anduril rounded on him with a speed that should have frightened him were he not used to such displays of aggression from her. She had opened her mouth to surely deliver unto him some scathing observation of his character before Falon'din interceded.

"What is the point of such an endeavor?" the necromancer asked. "The dwarves pose no threat. They've retreated even farther underground as of late, and the humans do little more than curiously explore our borders. The economy is sound and our offerings are consistent, if a bit lacking as of late. Unless one of your beasts is made of enchanted gold, I daresay harnessing one is a waste of valuable resources."

Ahhh, Falon'din - as fiscally aware as ever.

Anduril's eyes swept the room, and Solas took a moment to observe her closely. Her skin was cracked and pallid, and Solas found that further inspecting the state that she was in was liable to turn his stomach. Despite that, she was still uncommonly beautiful, though her green and gold-colored radiance had been replaced by something darker. Her eyes held a milky opacity to them, and when he tried to peer into them he felt a cold finger of dread slip down his spine. There was nothing, nothing but madness, there! It was no wonder Mythal seemed to be so concerned and, taking another look at the faces around them, it appeared Elgar'nan felt much the same.

If there was one thing to be agreed upon, it would be that something was very obviously amiss with the huntress.

"For power, of course," Anduril finally replied with a flash of teeth that was not quite a smile. "Why settle for Arlathan when we could rule the entire world? Why not extend our reach and gain more riches, more influence, and even more power? Imagine the hunts, Solas!"

She turned toward him with that shining insanity in her gaze, and Solas felt his hackles rise. That immediate, visceral reaction to her attention deeply concerned him. He did not fear Anduril, but he did fear what she had become. He did not know this creature.

He turned his reply over and over in his head, considering what he might say to stem her foolish was also her reaction to consider. Anduril was the explosively temperamental sort, and without learning more about the changes her journey had wrought upon her, he was unwilling to antagonize her here.

"I want for nothing," he said simply then, despite his thoughtfulness, couldn't help but add, "and besides, the hunts I have are all on your lands, killing your beasts. Where is the fun if I do not get to annoy you in the process?"

She practically growled at him for that, but his reply only annoyed her and, thankfully, had not made her aware of just how disturbed he was by her presence .

"Anduril," Mythal spoke then, and everyone in the room stilled to listen. "You must be exhausted from your journey. Why don't you rest and collect your thoughts on this matter?"

Anduril bristled angrily. "I have no need to think further! If no one here sees the benefit of harnessing the Void's power, then I will do so alone." Her frown smoothed almost too easily back into an eerie smile. "Then I will be the most powerful of the Evanuris!"


	2. Chapter 2

"Falon'din has been trying to dissuade Anduril for months without openly warring with her, but I fear it is only a matter of time. You saw the bloody swathe she cut through June's holdings."

Solas remembered, certainly. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to rid his memory of the sharp, metallic scent of blood that crept into and lingered in his nose when he had seen the devastation. June lived, barely, and had sought refuge with Elgar'nan and Mythal a weak and trembling shadow of what he had once been. June's lover, Sylaise had surrendered her holdings to Anduril without a fight, and had joined June under Mythal's protective custody.

Solas had seen opportunity where others might have seen tragedy, however. Slyly, he had suggested to Mythal that June, given his injuries and diminished power, enter Uthenera to recuperate. June had held the most slaves of any of the Evanuris, and his cruelty knew no bounds. He allowed the people under his control go for weeks without food, and the only water they had received was the putrid sludge tossed across their backs as they had toiled away on his latest project. So it was that Solas, with the unknowing, gentle guidance from Mythal, his friend, had rendered the first if his kin impotent.

Despite his original intention, laying June down to sleep had served one other purpose. When June had finally prepared himself to enter the long slumber, he had begun to look suspiciously, worrisomely, like Anduril had in Elgar'nan's throne room months before.

Mythal sighed deeply, her ethereal golden armor tarnished from her efforts to intervene between Anduril and her next victim. The huntress had not been joking when she had made the declaration that she would be the most powerful Evanuris.

"It's only a matter of time," Elgar'nan spoke, voice a deep rumble in his chest. "If she is allowed to continue, we will be unable to stop her without cutting a serious loss."

His wife nodded. "We need to weaken her somehow, but she has stolen June's power. As we speak, she is commanding his slaves to build a great lift to reach the void, and harnesses with which to capture these beasts she has seen."

"We need to kill her, vhenan."

As Solas observed the pair from the shadows within the private confines of Mythal's garden, he noticed for the first time that Elgar'nan was upset. It wasn't rage or annoyance that colored his voice, but sadness. Solas supposed that much was obvious. Andruil, after all, had been Mythal and Elgar'nan's only child. He could tell from Mythal's posture that she was appalled by the idea, but resigned to it none the less.

Elgar'nan continued. "I am sorry, but whatever has happened to her has driven her mad. She is not the same person we knew, and she is a danger to all of us."

 _And the People_ , Solas thought bitterly. Leave it to Elgar'nan to think nothing of the innocents Anduril had murdered in her insane quest for power.

Mythal remained silent for some time as she stared out at her garden, away from her husband, as she allowed all of the emotions she must be feeling flow through her. Never one to act without thinking, Solas imagined she was trying to reign in her visceral reaction to what Elgar'nan had suggested - nevermind that he was right to do so. When she finally turned around to speak to her husband, there was a steely glint in her eyes that spoke of her resolve.

"We need to move swiftly. She's already removed June and I imagine she is working to take Sylaise's lands. Without her there, it would be an easy enough assimilation."

Elgar'nan nodded. "She is moving West from the Brecillian. Sylaise holds the land near the Enavuris River in the Heartlands. Her temple is near the river's largest tributary, as a matter of fact. After Sylaise she may be foolhardy or strong enough to advance on Dirthamen."

Mythal shook her head. "No, I believe she will continue Westward. Ghilan'nain holds the Tirashan, and they are quite close."

Elgar'nan seemed surprised. "Anduril would never wage war on Ghilan. They've been bonded for Ages."

"Regardless of whether she chooses Dirthamen or Ghilan'nain after capturing the Heartlands, she is gaining momentum. We need more eyes on her," Mythal said carefully, her eyes moving across the expanse of her garden to fix him with her charged gaze.

Solas should have known she would be able to find him out, not matter how carefully he attempted to mask himself. He peeled the shadows of his disguise away from his body, feeling the magic scour it from his skin as he levered himself away from one of the arches near the breezeway.

Elgar'nan appeared irritated when he followed his wife's line of sight to him, but for once it seemed he was willing to suffer Solas' presence. "Never far away, I see."

"Never," Solas replied with a faint smile. There was some challenge in it, but nothing malicious. He reminded himself that, for now, they were on the same side.

"My friend," Mythal interrupted their silent posturing, and addressed Solas. "I trust you've heard the majority of what was said."

Solas merely nodded.

"I want you to use your stealthy abilities to get a lead on Anduril's plans. In order to stop her advance, we need to know where she's going. Can you do that, just like you used to?"

Used to. Solas and the other Evanuris were once just regular men and women brought together by a never-ending war. Each had their own talents, and Solas had been particularly proficient at approaching enemy lines undetected and then razing their supplies, stealing their intelligence, and otherwise hampering their every step. He lived solely through tricks, riddles, and his own cleverness. When the war ended, their enemies sealed away and forgotten, Solas would have faded into obscurity but for his friendship with Mythal, discomfited by the worshipful attentions of the People. His isolation had not diminished his penchant for causing trouble, however, even through the Ages.

Solas nodded at once in reply. "Yes, although I cannot help but ask after your own temples. The Arbor Wilds are in Anduril's path, if she is thorough." Solas knew the woman was focused on her task in usurping power from her kin. He didn't think that she would balk at slighting her own mother, as crazed as she was.

Elgar'nan shook his head. "There are nothing but trees, acolytes, and shrines in those woods. There is nothing of worth there for Anduril to take."

Solas bristled. "Nothing of worth? There are people there - families!"

"Yes, yes, and I'm sure your new-found bleeding heart will mourn their loss if Anduril even attempts to take the Arbor Wilds. I highly doubt it's a realistic possibility."

Once again, Mythal interrupted. "Solas, can you do this for me?" Her eyes were searching for his response before he even said it.

"Of course, my friend," he replied. "I will make the journey South once I've had time to prepare."

* * *

"Solas!"

The yell, accompanied by a hurried motion of snapping fingers, drew him from his thoughts in a rush. Blinking rapidly to focus, his gaze settled on Ellana .

"You're staring into space again," she said with a frown.

"I apologize." His attention returned to the set of crystals in front of him. He was supposed to have been helping Ellana enchant them. The opaque, powdery clump of faceted minerals he held before him was a common enough element within Arlathan's homes and walkways. It was also abundant within the shrines and temples dedicated to the Evanuris. The qualities of the mineral, coupled with a moderately difficult enchantment, assisted in the sustained presence of Veilfire. While one could summon the spirit fire easily enough, sustaining a blaze required some work. Transferring the source of the fire from oneself to the crystal eliminated the need for constant attention, and in so doing preserved ones mana for other tasks. The crystals degraded after a time, however, and it was for such a reason that Solas found himself assisting Ellana with the rather mundane task, even though his mind was clearly preoccupied.

"What's on your mind?" she asked, pressing and folding her mana delicately, almost sweetly into the crystal before her.

"You're always asking such questions," he replied. Solas had no such finesse for enchanting. His strengths lay in the forceful, and sometimes violent, manipulation of the energy of spirits and the world around him. He could charge the very air around him with magic, disappearing and emerging from the fade at will. It was a courtesy to others that he even bothered with the eluvians. Though such a manipulation of space had been explored by Elgar'nan, Solas had spent the time and gained the knowledge to refine magic. Space and time were his masters, and they had little need for subtlety.

"If you don't want me to ask, then don't stand there with that pensive expression. You're as plain to read as a book, do you know that?"

Solas couldn't help his smirk. "Am I? I believe you are only the second person to ever say such a thing."

"Then no one else must be looking close enough."

"Are you implying you're looking closely at me?"

"Of course I am," she responded without thinking, then audibly snapped her mouth shut. The realization that she had just blatantly flirted with one of the Evanuris must have been a strange one, never mind that the two called themselves friends.

Solas let her suffer in silence for a while, struggling mightily to hold in his laugh at her expense, though if he were honest, he may have replied in kind. Ellana was lovely, and though he wasn't new to the art of sex and romance, he wanted something different from this friendship. He just didn't yet know what that something was.

Then, like the creeping, inky blackness of the void, Anduril's war drifted back into his thoughts. She cast a pall over the small space of peace he'd hollowed out for himself here with Ellana, and were the huntress within strangling distance, he might be so inclined to wrap his fingers around the vile woman's throat.

"You're aware of the discord between Anduril and the other Evanuris, correct?" Solas suddenly asked, unable to keep his thoughts from spilling over his lips and into the quiet space. Despite himself, his thumb brushed nervously over the jagged edge of one crystal.

Ellana hesitated only a moment. "I am aware that she invaded June's territory and drove him away. Those two have always been at odds, though. Is something more going on?"

Solas fortified himself with a deep breath before he carried on. "Yes, as a matter of fact." She deserved to know. Everyone deserved to know what Anduril was doing, but especially those who may very well be in harm's way. "Anduril has declared war upon the other Evanuris. She is traveling westward from June's lands toward what Mythal and Elgar'nan believe to be either Ghilan'nain or Dirthamen's territories." He set the crystal down then, turning to face Ellana to hopefully convey the severity of what he was about to tell her. "But I believe she will come here next. Logically, this is the best choice of territories to invade. It is lightly guarded, full of relics that contribute to Mythal's power, and more so - brimming with people like you. Priests, acolytes, and pilgrims seeking Mythal's favor will be here, and Anduril would be a fool if she didn't see the opportunity to pad her forces before taking on Dirthman."

"You aren't certain, though?"

He shook his head once. "No. After I leave here, I will be traveling to Anduril's last known location in an attempt to discover the truth of her plans. I wanted to say something so that you are aware, at the very least, of the danger you might be in." After a pause, Solas reached up behind his neck and drew a thick, rawhide string over his head. Attached to the fastening was a bleached white jawbone. It was plain, or appeared to be at first glance, but there was a magic that surrounded it, thrumming pleasantly against his skin as he held it out to Ellana.

"What is it?" she asked, carefully reaching out to take the bone in both hands. She ran her fingertips over the smooth surface, and at the same time grew familiar with the enchantment Solas had placed on the item long ago.

"It's the key to all of the eluvians that I control." Solas explained. "Should Anduril turn her gaze here, flee with this. Anywhere that belongs to me is warded and secreted away. You'll be safe."

Ellana's brows pinched down above her eyes as she considered the object, obviously meaningful to him. "Thank you, Solas, but you shouldn't worry so much. I'm sure I will be fine."

He wished he could share her certainty.

"Stop that frowning!" she grumbled before slipping the pendant he'd gifted her over her head. "Has no one told you if you persist with that expression, your face will be stuck like that for the rest of eternity?"

He huffed quietly at her as she made light of the danger she was in, but the sight of his key resting against her chest eased his worry for her safety, if only a little. He surprised both himself and Ellana when he drew her unexpectedly into a hug.

It was a strange sensation. Solas never hugged anyone, or at least he had very vague memories of such embraces from his childhood. Even so, he'd felt the compulsive need for comfort, though he wasn't entirely sure why he'd chosen to envelop Ellana in his arms and hold her to him. The strangeness of such a gesture quickly evaporated when she slipped her arms behind his back and replayed him in kind. The sense of belonging he felt was almost overwhelming.

"I'll be fine," she said. "You go and do what you need to, and I'll be here when you return."

Somehow her reassurances made him want to leave even less, but he relented after a few more moments, and forced his mind to the task of undermining Anduril's plans. He was very skilled at being the proverbial thorn in her side, after all.

* * *

Just like old times, indeed, Solas reflected with a wry smile. It was a simple enough task evading Anduril's patrols. These were not the battle-hardened veterans from the Endless War, after all. They had not been advised to keep an eye out for his trickery. If a man suddenly found himself without a weapon or turned down a wrong path, he might dismiss the occurrence out of hand - he had simply forgotten or gotten his orders mixed up. Never in their minds would it have occurred that Solas was on the prowl, ensuring that he would not be caught, even as he stole into the veritable city of people that Anduril called her forward camp.

Solas padded quickly between a line of tents, their oiled canvases slipping along the tips

of his fingers as his palms pressed against the fabric. Should Anduril wish to discover who had made off with her plans, she'd have no trouble discovering the signature of his magic he now pressed into every surface he touched. Let the beast of a woman stew in her anger - at the mere thought that she had once again been outwitted and outmatched by him.

He peered around the bulky outline of one of the tents, watching as droves of slaves bustled about cooking meals, sharpening blades, and forging armor. More still sparred with one another, training diligently, if a bit fearfully, for the someday task of being living fodder for a war in which they little understood.

A cry of pain caught his attention, and drew his gaze to a line of shackled slaves standing before a large tent that bled magic - Andruil's magic. At the front of the line stood a young girl, no older than her twentieth season, whose slave collar was being wrenched by a soldier with such vicious force that she was choked at the same moment she was driven to her knees. The sight made Solas's blood boil, and he would have rended that soldier into pieces and scattered him to the four winds were it not for his current task. Even so, he remained hidden behind the line of tents, watching further as another came to stand before the girl. This was a woman, what Solas thought to be a priestess of Anduril's, and in her hands she held a small, rounded stone. A focus, he realized. It was a small thing, he knew, but it wielded enough magic that it could make a reasonably powerful person into a menace. Despite the crackling song of unbridled energy at her fingertips, the priestess only uttered a small reassurance to the girl as she was held against the ground on her knees, before gently touching the focus to the girl's forehead. Soon after, the woman held up her opposite hand, streaked with blood that oozed from a cut on her palm, and pressed it on top of the focus.

Solas felt the magic rise up around him and snap through the air like a thunderclap. He had never experienced this manner of spell before, and when the guard released his grip on the girl's collar, her head drooped forward, and on her once bare face were now the slave markings belonging to Anduril.

The vallaslin. _This_ was how they were made!

As the next slave was made to approach the priestess, Solas watched with greater attention, now focusing on the magic and the way the spell was constructed. If he could study how to made such a vile thing, he could absolutely unmake it. Of that he was certain. He waited and watched the procession until the very last slave had been branded, a violent, dark anger settling deeply within him. He would right this wrong. He would rid all of the People from the binding magics of the vallaslin even if it killed him.

After she had completed her task, the priestess wiped her hands clean on a spare cloth as if to absolve herself of her wrongdoing, and disappeared into the large tent. She emerged a moment later without the focus in hand. Solas hummed thoughtfully to himself. If the focus, an item of obvious importance, was being kept within, surely Anduril's correspondence would be there as well.

Solas boldly left his hiding place and crept along the side of the tent where the slaves had stood until he came upon a loose panel of fabric. It wouldn't do to go in the front door. Quickly, he lifted the edge of the sidewall and slipped beneath, finding himself then exactly where he imagined he would be. The tent was filled with artifacts belonging to both Anduril and June, and along the far corner sat a stately desk piled high with crystals containing all manner of messages. Solas immediately made for the collection, but failed to see the dark shape hurtling toward him until it was too late.

Solas felt the impact on his side before he was thrown off balance. He recovered quickly, fade-stepping out of the range of a lethal blow from the blade of a dagger. He fade-stepped once more as his assailant lashed out again, and this time Solas came away with his quarterstaff in hand. The next blow delivered from the dagger was caught upon the length of his staff, and the momentary halt in motion allowed Solas an unobstructed view of the attacker.

Honestly, the all black clothing complete with that ridiculous hood should have tipped him off, but he did not expect to see Dirthamen in the middle of Anduril's camp so far from his own home.

"Is there a really good story behind this, Dirth, or are you just going to kill me without satisfying my curiosity?"

The silent snarl delivered in Solas' direction was full of teeth, sharp ones, as pale lips pulled back over even paler skin. Spidery black veins ran across the surface of Dirthamen's face, and his eyes were clouded as Anduril's had been when she had returned from the Void. Apparently the ghastly condition was catching, as he'd suspected.

"What, nothing?" Solas taunted, shoving on his staff and sending Dirthamen stumbling back a moment. He drove his staff forward again, hitting the dazed elf on the bridge of his nose with a sickening crack. "You always were one of those scary, silent types."

He moved faster than Solas anticipated. Striking out with a foot and hitting him in the knee, Dirthamen then rolled back onto his feet. Solas stumbled at the impact, his leg momentarily giving out on him. Taking advantage, Dirthamen wrapped a spell about him, then flung the condensed energy at Solas, driving him backward into the desk and sending the crystals clattering to the floor. Solas responded in kind, focusing his mana to harry Dirthamen with a rain of ice shards.

Back and forth the two powerful mages exchanged spells and blows, and the crystals that had fallen to the floor, sufficiently jarred from the impact, had activated and were relaying the information contained therein. Solas was the first to notice this, and shot a powerful burst of energy at Dirthamen. As the other man recovered, Solas made for the crystals, searching and listening for one that contained the orders he needed to recover for Mythal. For an instant he heard the telltale cadence of Anduril's voice, and something about moving on from this encampment, before Dirthamen again interrupted him.

The deadly tips of a pair of daggers hovered dangerously low over Solas' throat, and it was only through a quick fade-step that he had managed to catch the strike before the blades tore into him. He balanced Dirthamen's forearms on his shins, trapping his arms back against his own chest while Solas' staff held the man's neck forward, preventing an escape.

Anduril's voice droned on in the background through the crystal as Dirthamen struggled and Solas tried to catch the orders she was giving. It seemed to take an eternity, but finally the information he needed was readily provided. Anduril was moving to sway Ghilan'nain to her side, and then she planned to seize Falon'Din's holdings, before finally marching on Arlathan to take on her own father. Seeing no point in remaining any longer, as bracing as fighting with Dirthamen was, Solas fade-stepped out from under the other man, then once again out of the tent and back to Arlathan. He didn't realize that Dirthamen had caught a very interesting scent.

He had discovered Solas' secret.

* * *

Bloody and bruised, Solas didn't bother healing himself as he strode into Mythal's garden. She was waiting for him, able to sense his chaotic energy from the moment he stepped into her realm.

"You're bleeding," she told him. It was a statement more than a question.

"I imagine so." Solas replied, wiping his chin with the back of his hand where a rivulet of blood had dripped from his lip. "Dirthamen is rather slippery."

She couldn't hide her surprise at that revelation. "Dirthamen?"

"Was in Anduril's camp, guarding her missives like some kind of attack dog. The profession suits."

Mythal scowled at him, turning from him to consider the new information, though Solas had more to tell.

"Officially, she's moving to bring Ghilan'nain into her fold. It appears that she is seeking alliances, not to kill outright as she attempted to do with June."

"So June resisted her offer?"

Solas hummed as he attempted to formulate an adequate hypothesis. "You remember the condition Anduril was in when she returned from the Void?"

"She looked sick," Mythal spoke, beginning to catch on despite his not even completing his thought.

"I think she is able to transfer it to others. I noticed June displayed some similar traits before he entered Uthenera. When I fought Dirthamen, he seemed much worse, but also displayed the same qualities."

"We need to warn the others," she said at once. "Ghilan'nain is likely already compromised, but Sylaise and Falon'Din should be aware of it. I'll make mention of it to Elgar'nan when he returns."

Solas hummed again, thinking on the likelihood that the others might not be on Anduril's side. Falon'Din seemed the only sure bet. Solas and the pathfinder had enough in common with one another that he assumed the other man had been just as engrossed in his own preoccupations with little consideration for the outside world. However, the close relationship with Dirthamen may have been a problem.

Perhaps sending Elgar'nan to warn him was a bad idea. If Falon'Din caught whatever it was Anduril was spreading around, that would give Solas an excuse to seal him away in Uthenera as had been done with June. The others wouldn't go without a fight, obviously, and they would have to be dealt with the old fashioned way.

Solas wiped the blood from his lip once more. He would need to take advantage of Elgar'nan's forces, as much as he hated the idea. Solas didn't have near enough sway over any one group of people to raise an army. There was always a way to buy someone, however. He just needed the appropriate currency.

The thought hit him like a runaway bronto.

The vallaslin!

"I'll leave the details to you, my friend," Solas replied. He was eager to be away and explore this theory.

Mythal nodded, distracted by her own musings. "Send Ellana my greetings."

He smirked, knowing he was unable to get much past her. "I will."

* * *

"Do you enjoy being bound to Mythal?"

Solas didn't expect to receive a blow to his bruised midsection for the question, but Ellana had yelped in surprised and hit him with the tome she had been reading anyway.

"Stop sneaking up on me!" she growled, snapping the heavy book closed and holding it by the spine as she brandished it at him. Her ire all but vanished when she took in the state of him. He must have looked worse than he felt, because she immediately set the text down on the desk at which she had been sitting and ordered him to sit before sweeping out of the room.

Solas really didn't see the need for such fussing. Sure, he was a bit sore and his lip had only just stopped bleeding all over his armor, but he had suffered worse in the past. Despite the unnecessary attention, Ellana returned to him holding a cloth and accompanied by a wisp. The wisp floated over to him immediately. It chimed and brightened, hovering about his head like a firefly.

Ellana stood before him, and gestured to the desk chair. "Sit."

"I'm fine, really. Nothing hurts. It only looks bad."

She huffed angrily, fixing him with a peevish glare. "Solas, I'm not nearly as tall as you are, but so help me, if you don't sit in the damn chair I am going to find something that will knock you down to my level."

He sat.

Ellana seemed mollified by his cooperation, and moved forward to stand before him. Bending at the waist, she brought the wisp close to the wound on his lip to see better before pressing the cloth against the split skin. He sucked in a pained breath, drawing sharply backward and out of her grasp. She followed him, leaning further over his body as he withdrew from her.

"What _is_ that?" He grumbled, curling his lip at the sting of whatever the cloth had been soaked in.

"Medicine," she replied, straining to reach him.

Solas had leaned so far back in the chair to avoid the biting substance that he was now balanced on only two chair legs. "You're sure it's not acid?"

"Stop whining. It isn't that bad. Besides, I need to clean it before I can heal it."

"You really do not-"

"Hush already."

She removed the offensive cloth from his mouth a breath before he felt the warm, itchy sensation of healing magic brushing over his skin. A moment later his lip was whole and unmarred once more, but she was leaning in again. The cloth pressed against the skin of his forehead, to a wound he hadn't realized was there, and the stinging sensation coupled with the surprise of it made him flinch so terribly that he lost his balance.

He fell flat on the floor and Ellana followed, sprawling over him with a thud that rattled his already abused body. Strangely, he didn't seem to mind all that much. Uncomfortable though it was, it had been a very long time since a woman had _actually_ fallen into his lap. Solas would be lying if he said that the woman being Ellana was not an added bonus. He'd been harboring an attraction for her for sometime, but he hadn't imagined he would acknowledge it in this particular circumstance.

Ellana scrambled backward, curses and apologies spilling from her lips as quickly as she could manage. Solas wasn't quite ready to let her go. A little forcefully, perhaps, he surged upward and used that momentum to flip their positions. He loomed over her, a hand tangled in the hair behind her head, and he stared down at her with an uncertain intensity that left him floundering for a notion of how to proceed. He'd fumbled this - gone about it all wrong. Ellana wasn't like the woman of his youth. He didn't want that. The trouble was that he did not know how, exactly, he was supposed to show someone he cared for them. He'd never done such a thing before. Book, plays, and ballads all made it sound so easy.

"What are you doing?" Ellana asked tentatively, finding her voice.

She didn't seem frightened or uncomfortable - confused more like. So was he.

"I -," he hesitated, eyes roving over her features that had become as dear to him as his anything. "I am attempting to figure out how best to love you."

Her eyes widened a fraction as she heard his confession, and again he considered that he might have pushed too hard, too quickly. Then the surprise seemed to fade from her face, and morph into something warm and gentle. It took him a moment to realize that she was smiling at him.

"May I make a suggestion?" she asked.

He raised a brow, feeling a mirroring smile beginning to emerge on his own lips.

"You could start by kissing me."

Who was he to say no to such an appealing demand?

Slowly, nervously, Solas lowered his head and moulded his lips to Ellana's. She obliterated his hesitation when she reached up, and with both hands weaved her fingers into his hair and pulled him more firmly against her. Ellana's boldness resulted in a flurry of motion - of lips, teeth, and hands pulling, grasping, and claiming what both of them had wanted for some time. Somehow they managed to rid him of his armor and, as he worked his fingers against the knot in the sash holding her robes closed, find their way from the floor, to the desk, and then finally to her bed.

There was a brief pause, when they both hit the bedding, where they took a moment to look upon one another. Solas drew her closer to him, running his lips along the line of her throat and pressing a kiss to her collar, it was with the realization that he _wanted_ this more than he had ever wanted anything. He wanted this, whatever it was, to last. He wanted to wake up in the morning and find that their friendship hadn't changed for anything but the better. He wanted to stay with her, linger for as long as she would have him.

Solas murmured a rush of endearments against her skin as he kissed a path down between her breasts and across her stomach. His fingers danced across the skin of her hips, curling reverently around the curve of her arse and down the backs of her thighs. Ellana sat up abruptly then, goosebumps erupting over her flesh as she brushed her hands over his jaw. Carefully she slid into his lap, legs draping over either side of his hips as she brought them even closer together. She looked at him, seeming to peer into him before her gaze dropped to his lips and then she was kissing him again.

Solas hummed his satisfaction at the contact, and she responded in kind when she tilted her hips forward and pressed the length of her body flush against his own. He very nearly choked, when the action more or less trapped his erection between their bodies. It was strange to acknowledge his desire in such a way. While he was certainly capable of becoming aroused, he was often too busy or too preoccupied to act on such impulses. Now, however, it seemed that part of his body was demanding his attention.

Emboldened by Solas' reaction, Ellana shifted her body forward once more, grinding her pelvis against him. With a growl, Solas' hands firmly cupped the swell of her arse before tugging her roughly against him. At the same moment, he rolled his hips against hers, and the contact forced him to bite his lip to keep from making a sound. Ellana gave herself no such restrictions, and moaned loudly next to his ear as her forehead fell forward onto his shoulder.

With her robe open, Ellana was all but bare to his gaze, and her lack of undergarments allowed him to feel the heat from her quim rubbing against his cock. Still within the confines of his trousers, his length throbbed painfully, and it was all Solas could do to utter his next words.

"Ellana, is this- Is this alright?"

She whimpered and pressed against him against, grinding herself down on the rigid outline of his cock as she reached behind him to fist his hair and tug. He hissed between his teeth at the momentary sting on his scalp, bucking up into her again.

"Ellana-"

"Solas, please!" she growled, tugging on his hair again.

Their coupling was artless and needy, but Solas couldn't bring himself to care as he felt Ellana move on and around him. His senses were full of her - taste, touch, sight, smell, and the sound of her breathless whimpers had him driving himself closer and closer to the edge.

After they had both sought their release, Solas' arms still held Ellana firmly against him, his nose buried in the crook of her neck. He considered asking again the question that had brought him to her in the first place, but he was loathe to let such a topic of conversation broach the comfortable, companionable silence that now existed between them. Ellana's fingers sleepily traced delicate runic patterns along his shoulder blades, and beneath her attentions he could not bring himself to think on the vallaslin, Anduril or the impending war. He was concerned for only Ellana.

He'd ask again in the morning.


End file.
